#jse ego fanfic

[kalcifers-blog]

MAG 10185 - Comatose

JSE EGOS X THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES

Fanfic/Statement.

Written by Kalcifer

(Loosely inspired by this fanfic by vanyzvat!!!!)

⚠️CW: descriptions of gore, hospitals, psychological horror, mental deterioration, acts of violence and loss of sanity.⚠️

Please move forward safely!!

Statement of Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestien, regarding a patient that never existed. Statement documented November 16th, 2018, read by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement Begins;

You see a lot of things as a doctor. A lot of very awful things. Things that you wished to never return too. I used to be able to not let things get to me, and I used to do it well.

One time a woman died in my care, aged 21. That was the first time something like that got to me. She was so young so- ready to begin her life. She was healthy too- a complete accident that took her away too short. And I couldn't help her- it drove me mad.

I don't even know how long it took me before I was able to sleep at night, but eventually I did, knowing that focusing on using her memory to motivate me to do better would allow me to save more people than wallowing in my own self pity ever could.

What I'm trying to make you understand is that I am used to seeing people during their worst moments and I am used to being able to come back from it. It's part of my job to be able too you understand.

This is why- this case- it, it worries me.

I want to believe I just lost my mind. I wished, I so utterly wished it was as simple as that. But I wouldn't be here if that was the case would I?

This all started two years ago. October 31st. I was appointed to overlook the care of a patient that had been put in a medically induced coma- after he had apparently, mutilated himself with a 7 inch kitchen knife. I won't go into detail but the wound was bad. And in my own professional opinion, the fact he survived at all was nothing short of a miracle.

I- I try to picture the man I was looking after for months. A year? I- don't know how long it was. But the image of him, it shifts in my mind- it warps like sand and everytime I think I can clearly picture him- he's faded into something completely different.

The one thing I do know for certain is that vibrant green hair he had, it was the first thing I noticed about him before I had to see that, horrid wound on his throat. I expected it to fade during his time with me. But it never did. The day he left it was just as vibrant as it was the day he arrived.

Each time I entered his room- (room 10-185) my head would start spinning. I got what I needed done, I- I attempted to treat him with the same humanity I did with all my patients, especially those who are in such conditions as he is. But every time I entered that room I felt the pressure of an intense migraine push at the front of my skull and I found myself hurrying out of his presence more times than I can count.

It was, routine as always, leaving his room only a few minutes after I entered, rushing towards the nearest bathroom when I noticed it- blood- my own blood, trickling gently down from the corneas of my eyes, staining my otherwise cleaned hospital mask. I hoped it was just my, apparently terrible vision but the blood it- it just looked too red- too vibrant- it reminded me of the man's hair that refuses to fade.

I started seeing things about three months before he left. Shadows that quickly escaped my vision as soon as I tried to look at them. The machines he was hooked up too- switching from a heartbeat monitor to awful, graphic images of visara. The lenses in cameras shifted to look like piercing eyes, flickering to stare at me and to never break their contact.

The wound should've healed by then. It should've. The man should've been dead at that point if he kept bleeding the way he did. But he didn't. He wouldn't die he just lay there. A sickening imitation of death, a mockery- towards me.

That's what it had to be. It was some cruel joke. Towards me, to give me this patient- this thing, to cause me my breakage. Why something would do this is beyond me, and why me? Its something I wished I could give an answer for.

But nothing ever changed. I just got worse. I stopped cutting my hair I think, I only barely followed the hospital guides for cleanliness as much as I could- as much as my tormentor would let me before the water in my shower turned to acid in my mind. Causing me to jump out screaming- it never was of course. It always had been water. The marks that plague my skin say otherwise but it's impossible for it to be anything other than water.

You would think the day the man left the hospital would be a joyous day for me. That I would be happy to see him finally be removed from my life. But no. Of course not. Why would I get any respite from this torment?

I came into the room, disheveled as always. And he wasn't there- I almost didn't notice it- I had gotten so far down my own delusion that I barely noticed that his presence wasn't in the room.

I almost cried with relief, until I saw the flickering of the lights. It- it was just an electrical issue- something that could be fixed- I tried to reason with myself- but the pit in my stomach knew- I just knew it was him.

The hospital stopped making noise that day. Everything stopped, it was like the world had paused. No one was there, I checked. And I checked again. And it was only the third time, after I had checked every room, every inch of the hospital, that I finally returned to room 10-185. And where my patient was waiting for me.

He was facing the wall opposite the door from which I entered. His hair was still that green colour- it- it hurt to look at. I tried not to look, but I couldn't, I felt the blood pour down my face as my eyes grew overwhelmed at the sight of the man and, all the features I can't even place in my mind.

And then- he spoke- his voice was something that could only work after doing what he did to his own throat, the very thing, the action that tied me to him. He said "I think I'm ready to be checked out. Thank you, doctor"

He turned to stare at me. At least his head did. The rest of him stayed statue still. I could hear his bones pop and his flesh tear, as he forced himself to look at me. And gave me a large smile, the blood from his throat, gushing out from between his rotted teeth like a broken faucet.

I'm sure I blacked out, I had to. Because the next moment I remember, I'm in the office of my superior. Being given the information that I had been fired. I'm sure that's what he said. The ringing static in my ears was so loud at that point, I could only piece together what he was telling me.

I didn't care at that point. I just wanted the figure that loomed over his shoulder to stop staring at me with its bloodshot eyes and broken smile.

I have no where else to go now. No one in my life that's cared to stick around will believe me. I have nothing but my story and my diminishing mind. Hopefully, I can finally get some rest at night. It is so hard too when you're being watched.

Statement ends.

After some research into this statement we have confirmed that Dr. Schneeplestien, a German man who had been living in England for upwards of 15 years, did infact work as a surgeon in the Manchester Royal Infirmary.

He was subsequently let go from his job, after neglecting his work for upwards of 15 months. It had only came into light that he was doing so, 3 months before his, very abrupt departure. He had apparently, lashed out at his superiors when he was confronted about this, leading to his almost immediate suspension- as well as arrest for assault towards a police officer, as he was forcibly removed from hospital property.

Henrik had apparently, grabbed a surgical scalpel from his lab coat- and had stabbed one of the officers in the collar. The man survived- but it is interesting to me that Henrik had very clearly, aimed for the same area as the wound of the patient he was looking after, apparently was.

Speaking of the patient- he very much does not exist. The is no record of anyone remotely similar to Schneeplestien's- albeit very vague description of the man, ever being admitted to the Manchester Royal, or existing in the first place.

I was initially tempted to appoint this in the discreated section. As to me it very much reads as the ramblings of a, clearly mentally unwell individual. However one thing that was found when doing this research, is what happened leading up to this statement being made in the first place.

Henrik Von Schneeplestien, was apparently, taken into the custody of the research facility known as I.R.I.S. a facility which, has very similar areas of study to The Magnus Institute. And apparently, take their findings with a lot more agency than the likes of The Magnus Institute. They seemingly, had allowed Henrik to make this statement to gather evidence towards- something.

I did try to reach out to them, as a follow up on this. To figure out what they could possibly need this research for. But apparently, everything about the case of Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestien, is completely classified information. And legally, this is the only information available to the public about the doctor in any form.

After making this statement, it seems that I.R.I.S had effectively wiped any pre-existing public information of the doctor himself- other than this statement of course. For what reason, I don't know.

That just begs the question- what does I.R.I.S have to hide? I have this nagging feeling that this will not be the last we hear of I.R.I.S- or the likes of the former doctor either..

...End recording.

[fracturedlayers]

Read The Doorway on Ao3

Chase was trapped with an anger and grief that was going to consume him. As fiercely as he wanted to disappear, he wanted to be heard. By someone. By anyone. What felt right in the moment had returned, like a vengeful ghost, to haunt him and his loved ones. Now, Chase would give anything to erase that singular moment in time.

Sometimes, when broken things scream into the void, it listens.

---

Finally up to 30 chapters. If you want 69K of a good boy put through the fucking ringer, this fic is for you.

[pencilpat]

I ABANDONED MY ROOTS so here is so many MBC sketches that it's ridiculous because I missed these nerds, and there's some new additions to the family that I had to draw. <3

Quintrell & JJ are my favourite weird girl x weird boy couple everrrrr

@beerecordings here's your babies

(Read this story here: @my-brothers-corrupted!)

[lirusstories]

Evangeline

Chase gets his wife and kids back for valentines day! Happy Chase week ya'll!

-

He's running, he doesn't know where, there are corpses everywhere and the air is thick with the smell of panic and blood and ozone. He doesn’t know what that thing was or how it knows his name (He knows, fuck he knows but he doesn’t want to). Fuck he wishes he had his gun.

Chase barely gains enough traction to stop himself from slipping on blood and hitting a wall, only bumping into it with his shoulder when a familiar song, deep in memories he simultaneously wants to forget and never let go of fills the air.

“That someone as beautiful as he~” It feels like the voice is drawing him in, it feels like nice warm soup after a cold day outside and couch cuddles while the kids are in bed. Like a nice warm summer day gardening next to the person you love. 

Like listening to your wife sing as you slow dance in the kitchen after a nightmare of red hallways.

He doesn’t realize he’s begun stumbling towards the source until he feels his own tears in his beard snapping him back to what's going on.

A part of him wants to turn around and run away, the last he saw of any of them were their bloody corpses in the twins room. Whatever could be drawing him in can’t be good but… her voice… It's been so long since he’s heard it.

“Could love someone like me

Love always finds a way it's true!”

He doesn’t know how many twists and turns he takes, but he starts to run into flowers, roses growing into the bodies on the… everything of the building, and yet they seem to part for him.

“And I love you, Evangeline…”

The voice is mournful and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away and tell her he’s still here.

“I’m still here-” He chokes out as he lets his body guide him through the thicket of white roses, seeming to part but gently cling to him, yet weary of their own thorns.

“Ooh, love is beautiful

Love is wonderful!”

Her voice no longer feels like an echo, the closer he gets, he can hear her. But, where is she?

Where are they? His family where are they?

“Love is everything, do you agree?”

He does, he very much does. He just, can’t remember the last time he’s felt loved. Everything feels so long ago…

“Mais oui!”

Chase feels his breath hitch, the voice is echoing through the halls now properly echoing through the halls.

“Look how he lights up the sky~”

Chase stumbles, he’s so close. The thicket seems to be clearing towards him from around the corner now instead of around him. It feels like his heart's about to pop out of his chest.

A part of his mind tells him he’s crazy for hoping, that whatever is coming around the corner will kill him as soon as it sees him. But he can’t help, please be her. At least let one of his family members defy reality and still be alive.

His heart jumps to his throat when he sees her come around the corner. It’s not the her he remembers. But it’s so clearly, vividly her. And she’s singing.

“And I love you, Evangeline…” Her voice trails off when she sees him. Her now spacey eyes blossoming with pink and orange and more pink as the roses around him seem to change color, and he’s so distracted by his own joy at seeing his wife again he doesn’t notice the smaller figures hiding behind her.

Chase’s heart jumps to his throat as she speaks, he never thought he’d ever get to hear it again, it’s soft and breathy with disbelief.

“Chase?”

-

@glitchyartist @randowaffle

[graphic-hawk]

Starting on AO3!

Just letting everyone know here that I have officially started to transfer stories from Wattpad to Archive of our Own! (AO3) The winner story people wanted to see on there first was , 'Chained Puppet' so I'm starting there.

I just wanted to let you guys know here so nobody thought someone was stealing my works lol

Here's the link to my Ao3 Dashboard so you all can subscribe there:

[wyzteri]

What the hell just happened

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 1

Chase can't help the goofy smile that takes up his entire face. 

"What are you smiling at?" Stacy asked with a fond laugh. The early rays of morning sunlight shone through her brown hair, lighting it up into a rich auburn color that matched the oak trees in fall.

"You," Chase replied simply with a soft look in his pale blue eyes, scooting closer to his girlfriend as they lay together in her bed. 

The young woman laughed and pretended to push him away, "You're being incredibly cheesy for how early in the morning it is, Mr. Brody." She let out a squeak when her boyfriend practically engulfed her in a bear hug, trapping her in his arms as he nuzzled into the junction between her neck and shoulder.

"I can't help that you're so incredibly beautiful this early in the morning, Miss. Wells!" Chase teased her before blowing a light raspberry into her skin, making Stacy squeal again. 

She pushed his face away as Chase laughed to himself. He could practically hear her roll her eyes when she said, "Cut it out! You're gonna upset her." 

"I'm still suspicious of how you're so sure that it's gonna be a girl." Chase mused, taking Stacy's hand from his face and tenderly kissing the back of it on top of a freckle.

Stacy scoffed lightly, "I thought you said you wanted a girl."

"I do!" He defends himself, placing a hand over his heart, "And I'd be happy either way! I just.. wonder how you're so certain." 

Her deep brown eyes sparkle, and Chase smiles while listening intently, "My mother has this trick that she learned from Granny when she had me." Stacy gently rolls onto her back and places Chase's hand on her stomach. Chase immediately starts to gently stroke his thumb over her shirt as he listens. "You take a wedding ring- eer or a ring you wear a lot- and tie it to a strand of your hair. You hold it steady over your tummy, and if it swings back and forth, it's a boy, but if it swings in a circle, it's a girl."

"A wedding ring, huh?" Chase grins, catching his girlfriend's hint immediately, but watches as she shrugs with a sad smile on her face as she places her hand over Chase's.

"We used my Granny's ring the first time, and it swung in a circle." Stacy smiles warmly down at their hands, and Chase weaves their fingers together. Stacy's hands were callused but remained soft, whereas Chase's hands had already grown somewhat leathery due to his work of handling an axe and climbing trees nearly every day. But it didn't matter to the two young lovers, they fit together perfectly.

Chase Brody had known and loved Stacy Wells since they were little kids. She was a year older than him, but they naturally gravitated toward each other, spending their free time wandering the streets of District 7 and enjoying each other's company. The peacekeepers kept a pretty tight leash on the people they watched over, but very rarely, the pair managed to slip by them and hide in the outskirts of the forests. On more than one occasion they were caught and Chase took the brunt of the punishment. But when they did manage a clean slip, they followed ancient deer trails to the river and would climb their favorite tree to spend the afternoon in peace. 

But more recently, the two of them have been much more cautious since reality has smacked them in the face.

Stacy was pregnant. 

It was terrifying for her when Stacy first told Chase. She said she was so worried about how he would react and if he would leave her on the spot. But it was immediately clear that Chase was over the moon. He was so excited that he picked Stacy up and spun her around her family's small kitchen before peppering her face with a million kisses. Stacy was so relieved she wanted to cry as Chase turned his brain to making plans for their future together.

Chase would go on and on about how he would build them a house near the outskirts of town where they could see the river- with Stacy gently reminding him that housing was assigned at marriage. He went on to say how he would work and trade to support them both- she already makes her fair share by mending the climbing ropes and helping her mothers in the apothecary, but wasn't upset about the prospect of a combined income. And Chase would very seriously tell her how he would do anything for her and their future child. He swore to protect and take care of them. It warmed Stacy's heart like a soft flame. 

But in the quiet moments, there was an obvious undercurrent of anxiety. Not only were there going to be incredible challenges with raising this child- their child- at such a young age, but in the back of Chase's mind there was another looming fear.

Stacy was already 19, she has aged out of The Reaping. But Chase was 18. This was his last year of having his name in the pool for the Hunger Games. And since he realized his child would be coming one way or another, with or without him, he needed to get extra tesserae for both him and his family, including Stacy. 

He has entered his name 21 times. 7 for his age, and 14 more for the grain and oil rations. He had to do it for his family to get by, but in the back of Chase's mind, he knows the odds were slightly more in his favor. He has the terrible thought that, unfortunately, he has friends with much larger families than him. So they must have more name slips in that glass bubble than he does… Chase always feels a wash of shame whenever the idea crosses his mind. Anybody but me.

Today was Reaping Day, and Chase was content to pretend like it was a rare day off. Just another Sunday with no work and no school. Soaking in the warmth and love of his girlfriend as much as he could. Avoiding the growing anxiety in his chest about the Reaping. It's just one more year. He thought to himself, I've slipped by 7 years already, maybe it will be okay. What's one more year?

Though he dared not say this out loud, instead opting for, "Well, if you didn't use a wedding ring, then how do you know if it was accurate?" 

Stacy scoffed, voice warm but tinged with sadness, "It's not like I have one of my own, Chase…" 

Chase leaned up and tenderly kissed her forehead, "Starlight…" He gently squeezed her hand and reached into his back pants pocket with the other. 

Stacy gasped at the sight of the palm-sized wooden box. It was small but clearly made by Chase himself, his craftsmanship is unmistakable. It was carved with delicate swirls and blueberries, stained a deep brown-caramel color, and embellished with blue ink on the berries. The polish alone must have cost him a fortune, let alone the paint, but when he opened the box Stacy covered her mouth with a hand. 

Inside was a ring. It was somewhat simple, being made of a polished gray metal of some kind, but in the center was set a small yet beautiful chip of golden amber, bracketed by thinner metal swirls to keep it secure. 

Chase smiled sheepishly, "Working with metal isn't my strong suit, but I hope this will do." He forged the ring (and a matching band for himself) out of a heavy broken bolt used for securing climbing gear to the trees. He had to smuggle it out and then asked his father for help at his small forge. It came out somewhat rough but he hoped the intention was there to see.

Chase took much more pride in the wood carvings. His father had shown him the box that he had made for Chase's mother when he decided to marry her. And it was truly inspiring for Chase- burned designs of delicate flowers and detailed acorns. It was a tradition in District 7 to give your love a ring in a box that you created yourself. Chase worked hours into the night trying to sand everything perfectly smooth and ensure the varnish was evenly coated.

When Stacy didn't say anything immediately, Chase took a deep breath and tried again, "I don't know what's going to happen today…" He starts, voice low so only the two of them can hear, "But I know I want this. With you. I-I know I'm not the brightest man in the world, or the quickest with a saw, or talented in anything besides using my hands… But I know that I want to be with you, no matter what might come. When I'm with you it feels… It feels right. Like I'm coming home to something worthwhile." There is a pause, and Chase looks into Stacy's eyes which are brimming with tears. "You mean the world to me, Starlight. You're brave and creative and sharp as a thorn. You inspire me every day to fight for something, to get out of bed every day because there is someone worth loving and protecting." Chase sees tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and his smile wavers just slightly, "So… hah, what do you say, Miss. Wells? Will you be mine? Do you want to marry me, Stacy?"

Stacy barks a wet laugh and Chase can feel his heart sinking. But she nods her head quickly, hand falling away from her mouth to reveal her huge, brilliant smile, "Yes." She replies, tears warbling her voice, "Yes, yes I do." 

A smile breaks across Chase's face like a blinding flare in the night sky. As they both move to hold each other close, Chase kisses her like he needs air as she holds his face in her hands like he is the world.

When the two finally pull away, Chase takes the ring from the box and delicately slides it onto her finger, gently rubbing his thumb over the gem to try and shine it while holding her hand. He gives her the box as well and Stacy takes a moment to admire both gifts and then Chase's face again.

Stacy was about to say something when they froze at the sound of the old clock tower. 9 AM. One hour until the Reaping ceremony. Stacy shakes as anxiety fills her, looking from the window back to Chase before throwing herself into his tight embrace. He quietly tries to calm her while rocking them back and forth. 

Running fingers through her short hair Chase tries to comfort her, "It's okay. It's going to be alright, I promise you, Starlight. I promise it will be okay." He whispered into her hair as he held her head close to his heart. 

"But what if-?" She started but stopped herself. "I can't do this alone, Chase. I can't-"

"You won't." He says more firmly than he believes himself, holding her impossibility closer. "You are not going to be alone, I promise. I promise you won't be alone…" Not again, he thinks to himself.

The two young lovers hold each other tight for a minute more before Chase forces himself to pull himself away. He stands up and quickly puts his work shirt on before leaning down over the bed again, gently brushing hair from Stacy's face and using his thumb to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Hey, I'll see you later, okay?" He tries to smile, praying his eyes don't show his true fear to her. 

Stacy nods and smiles unevenly, "Okay." She whispers, then Chase kisses her forehead and quietly leaves out the back door, waving to Stacy's mom, Lilly, who gives him a sad smile as he goes. Shrugging on his thick, sap-stained gray flannel, Chase heads towards his home in the Seam to prepare for what's to come.

As soon as he enters the small home, Chase's father looks up from the table. The two men have a silent conversation with just their eyes and subtle gestures in their heads.

Did you ask her?

Yes.

Did she say yes?

Yeah, she did. I'm so happy she did.

I'm happy for you. Go clean up.

Yes, sir.

And just like that Chase went to the small bathroom and used the tub of lukewarm water to scrub himself clean. Picking splinters out of his thick skin and dunking his entire head underwater to wash his hair. He took extra care to trim his close-cropped beard so it was even and tried his best to smooth out the wrinkles of his father's hand-me-down pale orange button-up shirt. Stacy told him that the color made his eyes pop but never really saw the difference himself. Dark brown slacks, polished leather shoes with an unseen hole in the bottom, and clean socks- also with unseen holes. There was a small stain on the collar of his shirt, but there wasn't much either of the men could do about it so Chase just tried to pretend like it didn't exist. 

Like he was pretending the Reaping wasn't going to happen today. Instead, he pretended he was going for a nice walk with Stacy, his fiancée, around the square.

But his delusion barely took root when he heard the half-hour chime and felt his skin grow cold. 

Chase's father came in without a word and helped his son with his hair. A quiet, somber air about them as the larger man carefully brushed and styled back his son's unruly dark blonde hair. It used to be lighter when he was a baby, but it's grown dark as the years have passed. When his father is finished, Chase stands and they look at each other quietly. Chase's father nods, and Chase pulls on his gray flannel and leaves. It was way too hot for it, but he needed the comfort today.

Much sooner than he'd like, Chase was heading to the town square. 

°○°○°○°

It's the same proceedings as every year. Get in line for your age, check in with a finger prick and blood sample, stand in a roped-off area for your age bracket, listen to how the rebels are the reason for the games, draw names, and go home. Everyone would celebrate their children not being reaped except for two families. All of the kids stood in the front near the stage while the rest of the district stood behind them to watch. 

It's mandatory to watch. 

Chase remembers how his classmate's older brother tried to skip it a few years back and the peacekeepers dragged him from his house kicking and hollering,  only shutting up when they pointed a gun at him. 

The square was decorated with harvest-colored banners that paled in comparison to the actual trees in the fall. They did look nice Chase supposed. All things considered, anyway. The buildings were normally blank, the Justice building being the only one made entirely of concrete in stark contrast to all of the wooden ones that made up the rest of the town square. Storefronts, mostly. But in the center was the clock tower and city hall. There was talk of the clock being torn down to make way for the Justice building way back in the day, but to everyone's amazement, it stayed erect.

The young man scanned the crowd behind him looking for his love. So many somber faces but Chase couldn't find the one with a birthmark just below her ear and nose dusted with freckles. His attention was quickly drawn back forward to the center stage that sat in front of the mostly unused Justice building.

Chase holds his breath as the national anthem starts to play, his fingers playing with the stray threads at the bottom of his flannel. Just one last time. Someone, anyone besides him had to be picked. There had to be what, five maybe six hundred other slips of paper in that bowl, he would be fine. He’s lasted this long.

One more year then he'd be free from the games.

He watches as the previous victor, a man named Jameson Jackson, drags his shoes back and forth on the stage while leaning heavily on a cane.

Chase remembers that year well, Jameson managed to use traps and hide in the trees until the girl from District 2 shot him down. An arrow to his leg, and an arrow to his throat. The entire district grieved thinking that was it, District 2 would win again. But when the final canon went off, Jameson was still alive. The girl had wandered into one of his traps, making the mistake of not finishing him off right then and there, then falling into a carefully covered pit. At least she broke her neck in a way that she died almost instantly. Jameson lost his voice to the arrow but, miraculously, never seemed to lose that cheery exterior. 

Chase would hear about him buying loaves of bread for the kids whose parents died in the forest while cutting trees down. Giving his coal rations to the parents who needed them most. Hell, he's even heard that he carved wooden toys for the kids who live in the Seam and couldn't afford such frivolous items. Chase still has no idea how someone seemingly so kind could have won the games.

The Capital woman came out wearing a gown even more lavish than last year's. Pink lace draped off of her hips making her look like a cupcake and her body the candle, with her orange and red hair being the flame. Every inch of her was covered in a layer of glitter that was flaking off with every movement. The mayor and the previous victor sit down in their chairs when she reaches the microphone, waiting for this to be over with. To Jameson's credit, he did try to put on a smile. But Chase could see it was strained.

“Happy Hunger Games!” The bubbly woman exclaims into the microphone, her shrill Capitol voice echoing throughout the town square from the old speakers and spotless TV screens. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” She brightly nods her head and another cascade of golden glitter falls from her hair.

Chase took in one last deep breath as he waited for the names to be called. 

“Why don’t we start with the ladies?” Her heels click as she moves across the stage. Chase watches as her white-gloved hand dips into the bowl plucking a white slip out from the bottom. She moves back to the microphone, opening the slip with minor difficulty thanks to the gloves, prolonging the announcement of someone’s worst nightmare. The square is silent until it is cut through with a crisp reading of a name. “Ivy Cinder.” 

Chase feels his stomach twist as he hears a former classmate of his scream out in agony. As if someone had already killed her. The crowd around her backs away as if she were poison- as if her fate was contagious. 

Peacekeepers in bright white uniforms grab her arms, dragging her to the stage as she tries to thrash out. Chase licks his lips and grabs the ends of his flannel. All things considered, she could do well in the games. Well-built, and good with an axe as far as he knows, she could be a force to be reckoned with. Well, if she wasn’t so kind. Chase knows that poor girl won’t last ten minutes, she couldn’t take a life, and she’d probably step off the platform and save the other tributes the trouble. He remembers her crying over a dead bird once in school. Her choked sobs were heard through the speakers and everyone tried to ignore them.

“Any volunteers?” The Capitol woman says, voice far too enthusiastic. The crowd remains silent, except for a few stray sniffles from her friends and family. “No? Well then, onto the boys!” 

Chase bites his lip as his body freezes like it has every other year since he was twelve years old. He watches as she plucks a name right from the top, fumbling a little while unfolding the slip. The districts don't really practice religion anymore. Believing in a God gave people hope, and that was a very dangerous thing. Still, Chase slipped his metal band onto his finger and prayed. To whom? He had no idea. But it didn't matter. It's obvious he wasn't heard.

“Chase Brody,” she says right into the microphone. His name echoes through the air like the breeze was trying to carry it away into the trees. 

--------

Tag list:

@brokentimewatch

[jellyfishdoodler]

I know I dont post fanfics here but I'd like to try? If yall arent into it I can move them to my general shitpoat blog 💛

Drummer Boy

Requested by @vanessasepticeye who wanted a oneshot of Jackie playing the drums to get his emotions/ anger out, similar to Gwen Stacy.

TWs: Angry Jackie, mentions of his dad, mistreatment of drumkit

Word Count: 1,226

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall.

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall. He tears the blue mask off his face so the elastic no longer digs into his skin, crushing the soft material in his hand as he stalks around the room. He finds his drumsticks on the cluttered desk and trades them for the mask with a pathetic and unsatisfying throw. The piece of fabric flops from the wall to the table without a sound and Jackie can feel a scream burning in his throat, so instead, he stomps towards his lovingly beat-to-shit drum kit. It was half duct tape at this point but it still worked, and it's not like Jackie could afford a new set anyway.

Patrol was an absolute fucking nightmare today. First he had to skip breakfast due to an early call for help across town, then he got chewed out by an old woman for breaking her potted plant and was harassed into buying her a new one- which he then had to stop the plant shop from being robbed by some jackass who thought he was hot shit with a switchblade. He lost the comic book he was saving to read on his lunch break to the sewer drain, got completely soaked by a burst fire hydrant, was sent on a wild goose chase to track down a missing dog in the park where he literally got chased by geese. And to top it all off, when he saved the day and rescued two teenagers from a burning apartment building, he was the one who was blamed for the girl's broken leg, even though it was literally trapped under a solid wood bookshelf before he got there. But the girl's parents just wanted someone to sue so they could make some fucking money back like all of this was a huge inconvenience and not like they almost lost their fucking kids to a fire. 

Jackie worked really hard to keep his composure until he got home. He has many years of customer service under his belt before he got powers and managed to smooth talk his way out of a lawsuit. But that encounter was the final straw for him. Jackie knew being a hero was a thankless job most of the time, hell he understood that those people were just scared for their kids, but everything throughout the day stacked on top of each other and he was left with a gross itchy feeling under his skin. He had to get it out.

Slamming himself down onto the spinning stool, the young man wasted no time taking his frustration out on the drums. Using the double petals on the bass kick to set a fast beat as he practically wailed on the set. He loved the feeling of the vibrations of contact traveling up his arms, it felt like clapping mosquitoes mid-air and off your skin so they dont drink more of your blood.

That same voice in the back of his mind reminded him he's gonna get another noise complaint from Mr. Smith upstairs, but right now Jackie doesn't care. The rapid beats of the snare matched the buzzing feeling rolling from Jackie's core down his arms and to his drumsticks, the crash of the cymbals almost dents the brassy metal as it covers his urge to yell in frustration. 

He focuses on the patterns of his rapid fire set, picking up more pace and forcing himself to go faster.

Faster.

Faster-

Everything abruptly stops when his right stick snaps in half. 

"FUCK!!!"

Panting heavily, Jackie just stares at the now uneven sticks in his white knuckled hands. Everything in the apartment is still and quiet aside from his heavy breathing. In the distance he can hear the neighbor's dog- Patty- barking up a storm down the hallway. 

Jackie finally allows his shoulders to slump down as he unceremoniously lets the drum sticks drop to the floor with a deafening clatter in the now silent room. 

He always hates getting this angry, he knows it's not good for his public image or for his own mental health. Fighting bad guys helps with most of it, but it still sneaks up on him sometimes when he's not paying attention. It scares him.

The hero gently rolls his neck and shoulders, letting air escape from his nose in a silent laugh at a memory flowing into his head.

 If his overall deadbeat dad was good for one thing in his damn life, it was teaching Jackie how to funnel his emotions, primarily anger, through playing the drums. His dad said he was part of a shitty rock band when he was in school and that's where he learned to play. 

One day, Jackie's teacher called his dad and told him about an incident on the playground. Jackie stood up for another kid getting picked on but broke another kid's nose in the process of defending them. That afternoon when he got home, instead of yelling at him like Jackie thought, the man sat Jackie behind the drum kit that sat in front of him today and taught him how to keep a steady rhythm.  

"I had a similar problem to ya, kid." He started when Jackie was getting the hang of it. "Always letting my anger get ahead of me." Neither of them say that he still does sometimes, and he continues, "If you use these to just, yaknow, get what you're feeling out of your system, this way nobody around you gets hurt. You don't… go punching anybody you don't like 'cause you kept it in for so long." Jackie wanted to protest that he was protecting a friend but let his dad keep talking. 

"You exhaust yourself playing these so you don't have the energy to let it boil in your stomach for later. On top of all that, the world gets to hear your heartbeat. It might not be pretty, but they get to hear it go strong and loud even if you can't say what you're feeling in your chest. Even if it's hurting. You use this as a way to help you let shit go. Because at the end of the day, if you let it be, if you let it fester, that pointless rage will rot you from the inside out." 

Jackie does not know what to really say to all that. His dad isn't the best at pep talks but he thinks he gets his meaning. Even if the man is a hypocrite. He just counts the beats in his head.

It's one of, if not the only kind-ish memory Jackie keeps of his father. The man was a dick his entire childhood, but he did give Jackie this one thing that was good.

With that memory of a good Tuesday afternoon nearly 10 years ago gently floating in his chest instead of what was there before, Jackie picks up the busted drumstick and tosses it in the trash. Heading to the bathroom to finally shower away the long day's grime.

Tomorrow is a new day.

[the9645archives]

ReBlog Relay (A JSE Writers Experiment!)

Hello all!

I’ve thought of this idea if anyone is interested; what if we did a community wide writing event where someone starts a story and left it unfinished for other writers to add it? Creating a story together?

If you’re reading this, that means YOU can be part of this experiment! From a whole chapter to a piece of dialogue!

If this is something the intrigues you, even just a little, gimme a ✏️ in the comments or reblog (to combat spam bots, likes won’t be counted).

Hope to hear back from Ego writers and fanfic enthusiasts soon!

(Ps. Which is a better name? Finish-The-Fic or Reblog Relay [writersofjack edition])

- 9 (nine)

[pxppet]

This Disability Pride Month you as the fandom should come to respect Jameson as a canonically mute and BSL speaking character and make an effort to learn, grow, and educate yourself on nonspeaking disabilities, and to include them in your writing and art!

- Signed, a nonspeaking fan

[kalcifers-blog]

MAG 114209: The IRIS of The Eye

A JSE Ego x TMA Crossover fanfic

Content Warning!! Discussions of violence, self inflicted injury and insinuation of suicidal behaviour. Nothing is in graphic detail, but please stay safe while reading!!

[Tape Recorder clicks]

The Archivist: (sighs) Alright, let's try this again shall we-

Chase Brody: oh for fu- is that really necessary? Why do you people all insist on recording people??

The Archivist: oh- sorry this is just- procedure. It's kind of my job to make sure statements are recorded properly- unless you don't- want- to make a statement?

Chase: (interrupted the last sentence) No- no. I'm sorry- I just- I need to do this I think. I'm not exactly sure what this place is but... I think- somethin' tells me that this is the place to get this out there somehow

The Archivist: I see.. well. Whenever you're ready, we can begin

Chase: (deep breath) okay. Yeah I'm ready.

The Archivist: Alright. Statement of Chase Brody regarding the entity referred to as ALTR 114209. Statement taken directly from sub- from Mr. Brody himself. Statement overseen and recorded by Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement begins:

Chase: [statement]

I feel like I can't really talk about this without some context first? I grew up in Ireland- you- you probably already guessed that because of the accent- but yeah. I'm from Ireland. My life there was miserable. I grew up in a small town. One of those classic "everyone knows everyone" schticks. Mostly because my Ma insisted on going to the local church to do all her socialising- I went there too consistently 'til she passed. I was 15 at the time.

Before she did I was convinced I wanted her out of my life, we never got along- I'm not saying that I completely change my mind now it's just- when someone like that leaves your life forever you start thinking about "what could have been" far more often. When she did pass I knew I wanted out- I needed to get away so I saved up my scraps of money to go to college in Britain. Maybe I wanted to get away or run from my feelings- I just. The way everyone would look at me, knowing what I was going through, giving me these- disgusting looks of pity- I needed out. I needed a get away.

So I moved. My Father didn't care too much, the man was out half the time for work and when he wasn't his hand was glued to his ale. I told myself I wouldn't end up like that- miserable sack of shit but- (chuckles sadly) I- I guess things don't always go to plan, huh?

Anyway- My life did start turnin' around when I got to the UK. The college I went too was pretty mediocre but the people I met were some of the most incredible- the person who changed my life forever in ways I couldn't have ever imagined was Jack.

Jack was my first friend- after realising we where both Irish and kinda had a really uncanny similarity to us, everyone always joked that we had to be twins because of how similar we looked. Despite the fact I'm nearly four years older than him- anyway uh- he got me into gaming.

I'd played games before of course but, this was the first time I played proper video games, especially the horror games, my Ma tried convincin me anything to do with horror was born out of evil and well- actually playing them for the first time was really eye opening as to how stupid that idea was.

I know this all sounds like useless information but I promise it's important- what you need to know is that Jack was my best friend. He introduced me to things that would be some of my favourite things ever, he was there when I got with and broke up with my first boyfriend and through everything, all of those disgusting sides of how bad my mental health got, Jack was one of the only ones who stuck by my side. So when he asked me to be his editor when his YouTube career took off I didn't think twice about saying yes.

I don't think I need to tell you about the successful YouTuber Jacksepticeye- and how he's the largest ever YouTuber from Ireland- how he managed to accumulate millions of subscribers before his disappearance on Halloween of 2016.

Of course, now I know that video that was put up on his channel that wasn't uploaded by me or him and definitely wasn't edited by myself wasn't actually a fake.

No one knew what to make of "Say Goodbye" when it first released. For me I was confused- Jack obviously can edit videos on his own, in fact its pretty common for him to do so- but he always lets me know if he does. There's never been an occasion in which he didn't in the entire time I was working for him. So when that video dropped with no warning I immediately felt off about it.

I won't tell you what happened in that video. You don't need to hear the details of Jack seemingly hurting himself to the point that he was placed in a medically induced coma- I was watching the video itself when I got the call- his doctor- German if I had to guess from his accent, calling me to let me know and to ask me some questions, due to the nature of his injury.

I don't care who comes in to tell you. Jack did not try to kill himself. I refuse to believe he ever would. Jack like I mentioned, was more than my boss, he was my closest friend and we told each other everything. There was just. Nothing. Not a single thing to indicate in his life that he would ever want to hurt himself like that.

I ended up staying in contact with the German doctor, his name's Henrik Schneeplestien- really nice actually. And it was talking to him that I got an email from Jack's account. Not his business "Jacksepticeye" account- his personal one, the one I knew he used exclusively for things that where for his personal life.

When I got that email my blood froze over. It was a video. It was that video. But it was longer. There was more to it. Instead of Jack's body lying there- lifeless and bleeding out. It jerked. It jerked upwards- like his muscles and joints where all connected to strings and being hoisted up against his will, like a fucking puppet.

The thing wearing Jacks dying body laughed. It laughed tormenting us- Henrik started believeing me after watching it with me the first time.

I'll spare you the details of how my life derailed after that. The months of waiting for Jack to wake up. Of Henrik losing his mind trying to understand what's going on. The disappearance of both Jack's body and Henrik himself. Me finding the most beautiful woman on the planet and finally feeling like a person again with her. Only for her and our child to be ripped away from me by that fucking thing that insisted on destroying everything in my life that gave living meaning.

Every time something bad happened it was there, still wearing Jack's face. Puppeting him around with this wicked smirk it had some crude inside joke I wasn't apart of.

I lost everything. My friend was gone, my wife and child where dead, the only person who ever cared to hear me out was missing and to top it all off I had some demon wannabe kicking my skull into rock bottom. Just so I knew that my misery wasn't over.

I had enough. I drove myself to a forest, it was our favourite place to go to as a family in the short 3 years we got to be a family. I wasn't planning on leaving that day. I decided then and there that I wasn't having it anymore. I was done. That thing won. I gave in and I just wanted it to be over.

I still can't tell you what happened to me. But I was in the forest one second and the next I was on top of a parking garage miles away. Whatever happened to me, I knew it was the only weird thing that wasn't brought to me because of that fucking monster. I still don't know what- but I just. I just KNOW alright. I just. Know.

Anyway, not long after that I'm detained by IRIS. Your institute already have all the information you need on that fucking place. I was there for questioning about what happened to me that day. And my experiences with the thing thats been destroying my life. There wasn't anything more to say other than what I've already told you.

They where about to put me under "special containment" dragging me against my will further in the building. The whole building felt like it was screaming at me to leave- that something bad was going to happen- I wished I was wrong.

That thing came back. It was still wearing my friends face and it killed any and all workers that came close to it. All it said to me was "hello, Chase" before I blacked out. I don't remember how I somehow managed to wake up in London- or how this nagging voice in my brain told me to come here. I don't know what "ALTR 114209" is, why it decided I was going to be it's plaything or what it even is. I just....

I just need someone to know that this thing is out there and more people will die if IRIS continues the way it has done for years now.

[Statement Ends]

Chase: (deep sigh) Jesus- I- How'd you- how did you get me to do that-

The Archivist: trust me, that's a long story- I just. I'm sorry are you insinuating that IRIS is somehow- responsible? For the actions of this entity?

Chase: yeah I thought I made that pretty fucking obvious man. IRIS has done nothing but hide the truth from me, borderline torture me and do absolute jack shit when something bad happens to anyone- including their own workers mind you.

The Archivist: Okay well... Fair enough. But please be cautious, if IRIS is behind all of this. You don't want to talk about it here, not in a place like this

Chase: oh just because your boss is watching doesn't mean I have to worry about him snitching to the SCP ripoff

The Archivist: wait- what did you jus- how did you- do you. (Whispering) Do you know that Elias Bouchard is listening and can see everyone in the building- there's no way for you to of....

The Archivist: Oh..... I see.. Chase I- I think I know why you might be a target-

Chase: (quietly) wh.. what- what do you mean by that..?

The Archivist: let me get you a drink. This will take a long time to explain.

[Tape Recorder clicks off]

That's all!! Thank you SM if you read through this, I'm very new to writing fanfic so I hope that this is alright!! A lot of people really liked the idea of a crossover between JSE lore and TMA so of course I had to write up how I imagine Chase Brody's Statement.

Again thank you SM for all the support and I hope to get some more drawing/writing done soon!! <333

[aquilacalvitium]

New Hero on the Block - A Jackaboy Man OC Insert Fanfiction - is getting (yet another) rewrite!

(Art by the amazing @soopticboop ❤)

Unlike the last three rewrites, this time I will be completely changing huge parts of the story. Jackaboy Man is still the main focus, and “The Shadow” is still a secondary main character, but the villain has been completely removed and replaced with someone new 👀

The first couple of chapters will be exactly the same, unless later parts of the story change too much and require a rewrite of the beginning. But for now, no changes have been made until chapter three.

These changes are to make the story more JSE-centric and to keep details of my original story private until I can get around to writing it.

If you’re a JSE ego fan, please give my fic a look. It’s been in the works for a very long time and has evolved an awful lot since it’s original conception. I’m hoping this rewrite will be the final one, as the added changes will hopefully let me give the story a satisfying ending - something I struggled with in past iterations.

[lirusstories]

Sharpened Stones - Septic/Egotober Day 2

Tw: Panic Attack, Flasback

Egotober: Stone(sorta)

Septictober: Sharp Objects (Sorta)

Word count: 792

”I do think-“

“Henrik I'm fine I can go up and down the stairs just fine.”

Henrik gives Jack a Look that has him looking away.

“You need to take it easy, you are still recovering and-“

”Alright Alright I'll stay downstairs while you guys are gone.“ Trying to keep from sounding upset.

Henrik sighs, ”Look, Chase will back in a couple of hours, he's picking Angus up from the airport, just. If it weren't for Jackie you would have fallen yesterday.”

“That wasn't my fault!”

“I know, your legs gave out and that is the issue. You need to keep using your legs yes but I am begging you to use your cane and refrain from using the stairs.” Henrik tells him concerned.

“I know Marvin's potions are helping but they are not a cure all, you were-” Henrik takes a deep breath as he tries not to get upset further, he doesn't want to make Jack upset either but at this point it feels rather inevitable sometimes. He doesn't blame him it's just, frustrating.

“I'll be fine Henrik, I'll walk around down here and if I'm hungry I'll just grab something from the kitchen.” Jack assures.

Henrik still looks concerned before eventually caving and nodding.

”Alvight, Alvight. I'll leave you alone. Just, call one of us is something comes up, alvight?“

”Alright Alright, I'll be fine. Don't forget you have other patients to look after.“ Jack attempts to joke lightheartedly.

Henrik gives him a different Look.

”Jack, you are my brother, you are who I'm most concerned for.“ Henrik tells him softly.

Jack can't help but feel warm and nod a little.

”Now, I do need to go to work before I have to deal with Randy calling me.“

”Fuck he's still around? You'd like he'd retired by now.”

“Yes well he likes ruining my day, so I better go before I send him into an early grave. I love you, and remember to call if you need one of us.”

“I know, I know. I love you too, now go before Randy starts blowing up your phone.”

Henrik chuckles and nods, far more relaxed about leaving jack at home. “I'll see you soon.”

“See ya, and be safe!” Jack shouts after Henrik before falling into a coughing fit after the door closes.

Damn he's really pushing is voice right now. He imagines his asthma isn't too happy with him either.

He sits back and manages a few breaths before taking in the silence.

He hates it.

He was alone that night too, if Jackie hadn't come home and found him...

He shakes his head, wincing as his memories make his throat throb before turning on the TV to drown out his memories. It's his first time home alone since he woke up and he will not let the anxiety get to him.

It's a few hours later when Jack's stomach starts rumbling and he realizes he should probably get up and make himself something.

Grabbing the cane given to him by the hospital, he pushes himself off of the couch before slowly making his way to the kitchen.

He rummages through the cupboard first, going to grab a bag of chips before Henrik's words ring through his head, reminding him to eat healthy for at least the first few months. Jackie, Chase and Jameson still slip him some chips or candy bars when Henrik, Marvin or Jacques aren't paying attention or home but still.

He sighs before grabbing the oatmeal. Hopefully he'll remember it on the stove.

-

Good news! He did, bad news, he's forgotten where the spoons are.

He remembered them yesterday he knows he did, he remembers that he grabbed them just, not from where.

So now here he is, opening and closing draws as he tries to remember where before freezing dead is his tracks.

He stares at the drawer filled with the knives.

He swears he can feel his body painfully and forcefully glitching again as he stares at them and for a moment he swears one of them is coated with red.

And he knows it's not real. He knows it's not because they've replaced them after that night.

He slams the drawer shut as he stumbles back and into the dinning room table as he gasps for breath.

It feels like there are stones in his stomach as his appetite vanishes as he desperately tries to ground himself but he just can't.

He can feel the cold metal opening his throat when he couldn't even twitch a muscle. And then his voice, oh god it sounds like it’s right in his ear.

”Look at you!“

Chase and Angus come home hours later to find him passed out under the dining room table.

Hello! If you enjoy our work and wish to see more, including spoilers, cut scene's or replaced scene's feel free to join our discord!

And if you really enjoy our work and want/are able to help us out, feel free to buy us a ko-fi or send us somethin on paypal!

Taglist:

@malaboos-bodacious-blog @glitchyartist @brokentimewatch @secondary-objective-active @randowaffle @jselorekeeper

(are we supposed to tag the lorekeeper or am i being silly)

[solaneceae]

welp! to celebrate today's trailer, i posted a new chapter of WDKYMYS early! this one has delicious art from @/underratedjuice too hehe

today, henrik comes to terms with what he saw deep beneath IRIS, and a certain mage drops by for a chat.

[starlite-sin]

Egotober prompt day 1: Hoodie

Jackie and chase go shopping to find an emotional support hoodie and Jackie’s got a service dog. 

“Dude, these are so damn expensive!” Jackie held up a very soft black hoodie. Zeke, a black lab service dog, sat patiently and quietly at his feet. Chase looked around from another rack. “25 for this?”

“Good lord. This one’s 15, so it’s a bit cheaper but it might mess with your sensory.” The pair decided to go out and buy the hoodies to help Jackie. “There’s a lot over here, and they all look solid.”

The hero went and joined his brother, Zeke following closely next to him. Sometimes too close; Jackie had either tripped or accidentally kicked the poor thing way too many times during training.

Chase was standing in front of a rack covered in bright neon sweatshirts, and he was holding a red one. Already, Jackie didn’t like them, they were too bright. He felt the inside of one and his hand yanked back like he was burned. He shook his hand like he was trying to shake out the feeling. “Y-yeah no. Maybe not that. Plus, that’s all neon. That looks more like something Lucas would buy his brother.”

“Fair enough.” Their attention was grabbed when Zeke yelped, and a young girl’s hand pulled away from his tail. People started looking over at the sound of the dog.

“Hey, don’t do that!” Jackie snapped, maybe a little too harsh. The girl was young, probably only 10 or so.

“I wanna pet him!” The girl said.

“He’s working, okay? He can’t be pet right now,” Chase explained. “Where’s your parent?”

“Mom’s looking for dresses. Why’d you bring him if people can’t play with him? Dog’s aren’t allowed at the stores.” Chase looked over at Jackie, who was now visibly shaking. People were whispering and staring. They didn’t say anything to the brothers but Chase had heard it all. Jackie’s heard it all. 

“We can’t talk right now. We’re running very late.” Chase just grabbed a sweatshirt and his brother, leading him past all the whispering people and their stares. As soon as it was bought, Jackie put it on and pulled the hood up, lowering his head and Zeke had to lead him to the car.

“You okay?” Chase asked. Jackie just shook his head.

“Let’s just go home.”

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 2

No. No. No. No. This can't be real.

Heads turn towards Chase as someone from behind him gives a push right into a peacekeeper. He tries not to gasp. He forces his legs to move and keep his head up high as he makes his way to the stage, but he can't seem to broaden his shoulders, folding inward on himself as he walks. His throat is dry, and he can distantly hear Stacy’s protests and cries, begging for someone to volunteer for him while being shushed by the crowd.

His footsteps don't even creak on the solid wooden stairs as he climbs them. 

He looks over the crowd, his home, his community. Watching faces morph into everything from relief and mourning to utter shock. He feels a cold hand touch his back, keeping him upright, and distantly registers that he locked his knees so he wouldn't run.

“Any volunteers?” The cupcake woman asks the crowd. 

Chase prays again, this time to the crowd directly, someone out there has to know he’s about to be a dad. Someone has to volunteer. They can’t leave Stacy to be alone with a child. Someone must have some pity. Please. He begs them with his eyes.

Nobody steps forward to volunteer. The entire district remains silent.

Chase's stomach drops like a mangled stump into a wood chipper.

“Well, there you have it, District Seven! Your tributes this year: Ivy Cinder and Chase Brody! Let's give them a big hand!" 

He doesn't see anyone move, but if they did clap, Chase wouldn't have heard it. Blood was rushing in his ears as his brain spun out, trying to keep up with what was happening to him.

Chase feels numb as the peacekeepers usher him into the clock tower. The old building doubles as a city hall for the district and has been well maintained despite the rest of the town crumbling to sawdust around them. If he bothered to look directly up when they entered the door, Chase would be gazing up the spiraling steps of the clock tower itself and see the gleaming gears ticking away steadily high above their heads. Well-oiled and sturdy to the tests of time meanwhile, Chase could feel his entire life burning around him like a raging forest fire in contrast. 

They escort him to a private room to wait for visitors and the first thing Chase does after the doors close is scream. 

He wants to throw something. So instead of something breakable and expensive- the tray of crystal drinking glasses looks very tempting- he rips off his flannel and wads it into a ball with harsh digging fingers, flinging it with all of his strength into the plush leather couch. He grabs his hair and begins to pace the freshly cleaned hardwood floor. 

Okay, Brody. Get your shit together. Keep calm. Keep calm. You can figure this out-

He doesn't have much time to calm himself when his father walks in. Douglas “Chip” Brody looks at his only son, and for a rare moment in Chase's life, his father walks over and hugs him without prompting. His massive frame dwarfed his boy as he held him close.

Chase freezes for a split second before he quickly latches on tight to his dad's shirt like he was a little kid again. He certainly felt that small in this moment. Shoulders shaking with a cocktail of anger, fear, and despair, Chase lets out one sob into his father's broad chest. 

"You-" Chase swallows thickly, "You can't let Stacy be alone, okay?" He begs his father. "Please don't let her go hungry or leave her alone to suffer. Please. Do whatever you can to support them. I won't be able to now but I promised her. Please, Dad…" 

Chase doesn't hear a word but can feel his father nod against his head and hold his son tighter. 

Chase's father, in many ways, could be described as built like a boulder. Both in stature and in the amount of words typically spoken. He has always been a man of very few words, even more so when Chase's mother passed away a few years ago. They never needed many words to communicate between them. But at this moment, the father speaks to his child.

His rumbling voice coming from deep in his chest, he says, "You're strong and resourceful, Chase. Find an axe or a knife." The older man pulls away to look Chase in the eye. People always said Chase got so much of his mother in him. Does his dad see her when he looks at him? "Never forget your roots." He places a broad hand on his son's chest, "Your roots grow deep and sturdy here in Seven. Whatever you show out there, never lose touch with who you are and where you came from." 

Chase blinks away his tears, "Only one person lives, Dad."

His father lowers his gaze for a moment before looking back up, "Then be the one who walks out." He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Chase wished he believed that it could ever be that easy.

They sat quietly together for the remaining time on the couch, the older man's arm around Chase's shoulders as he listened to his dad's steady heartbeat. It was over way too fast- Chase quickly hugs his dad again and they whisper "I love you" to each other before the older man is taken away. 

The silence in the room is deafening.

Chase is starting to fiddle with the simple metal band around his finger when a peacekeeper opens the door and Stacy does her best to run to him while seven months pregnant. 

They clutch each other tight and Chase feels her sobs racking her whole body. He gently strokes her hair and hushes her before pulling her back and firmly holding her shoulders.

“Stacy, hey, look at me. You don’t let her take out any tesserae okay? You do not let her take anything from them." Stacy begins to protest but Chase keeps going. "I’ve already asked my dad but I'm also gonna ask my mentor to take care of you. If I get in good with him, maybe he’ll take pity on you. Give you bread and stuff.” Chase rattled off every last thing he could think of. Anything Stacy needed to know as thick tears pooled in her eyes.

"Chase please-" She begins to plead but Chase takes her face in his hands and she places her hands over top of his.

"Sell all of my stuff the moment you hear my cannon."

"Stop-"

"Everything. Clothes, furniture, my tools. Everything, Stacy. You get as much money as you can and you save it all for her, okay? My carving tools are worth a decent amount, don't settle for less than what they're worth."

Stacy shook her head at every word Chase said, not wanting any of it to be true. "No. No, No, No, NO, NO!! STOP THAT!! Just an hour ago you said it would be okay- That we would be together and okay! You can't go! I refuse to have our baby grow up without a father!" Stacy cries and pleads, weakly pounding a fist against Chase's chest, knowing it won't do her any good, but it's one thing she feels she can control at this moment. 

"Starlight," Chase implores, feeling his heart break as he watches Stacy go quiet when he gently holds her wrists, "I'm... I'm so sorry." He barely whispers but clears his throat, resting his forehead against hers, "I'm so sorry this is happening. But it's out of our hands." Chase slides one hand from Stacy's wrist to her stomach, gently resting it over the baby bump and rubbing his thumb over it like he always did. 

He steels himself. He can't leave her. Not alone like this. He will not leave her behind like her father did to her family. He promised he would be a better man than that. But did he really have a chance..? He certainly didn't have a choice.

"You can win." Stacy starts, and Chase looks back up at her eyes her beautiful brown eyes with flecks of gold in them when the sun hits just right. "You're good with an axe. I've seen you throw them in the backyard with Birch. You're strong and fast on your feet, and I've seen you climb trees faster than a squirrel. Hell- you're 18, as old as any career. I genuinely think you have a shot of winning, Chase." Stacy's voice was firm, much more confident than Chase felt about himself despite tears rolling down her cheeks. But at this moment, he believes her. "You have to win." She swallows hard, "You have to come back home." 

Chase slowly nods. He barely gets his voice to cooperate enough to say, "Okay." Before he pulls her in for a kiss. He tries to tell himself it won't be the last one, but he still attempts to pour all of his heart and love into this one kiss. 

When they break away, Stacy pulls off the ring Chase gave her just over an hour before. He's confused when she presses the piece of jewelry into his palm and closes his fist around it, "You're bringing this back to me. And if you don't, I'll kill you." She said, and Chase almost laughed in disbelief. This is why he fell in love with this woman. He takes his simple band off his own finger and trades it to her. Quickly going to the couch to grab his reliable thick gray flannel and wrapping it around her much smaller shoulders, and kisses her again. She clutches the ring tight in her hand and the flannel close like a security blanket as she kisses him back.

"I love you so much, Stacy."

"I love you, too.” She gasps at a sudden thought, “What do we name her?" Stacy asks quickly and Chase panics, distantly hearing peacekeeper boots coming their way.

They had discussed name ideas before, but he wanted to wait and actually see his baby's eyes before making a choice. But if he never got the chance to do so- Chase has to think quickly. They don't know 100% if it will be a girl, but if she is then what do they name her? Think, Brody, think-

The door handle begins to turn and Chase hugs his girl, almost crushing her to his chest as he blurts out the first name that came to his mind, "Willow." 

Stacy nods and clings tightly to him. The peacekeepers come in and all too quickly she is being pulled away from him. He wants to shove them off her. She is crying, screaming "I love you so much!" as they drag her away. Chase calls back to her, but the door is slammed shut in his face.

He tries to go for the handle, but he hears the deadbolt coldly thunk into place. He slams his fist against the hardwood before pressing his forehead against it in defeat.

Chase desperately goes to the window to try and see her again, but the shutters are also locked tight. He feels like screaming again. His eyes burned but he swallowed tightly around the lump in his throat. Goodbye…

One more person comes to see him. 

His best friend, Birch, is a tall twig of a person who fits their namesake almost scarily well. Pale skin with darker patches around their eyes and mouth, and scattered across their arms and legs. Dark hair and matching black eyes, they wore an orange flannel normally but today it was just a gray button-up and a somber expression to match. Birch had been Chase's closest buddy growing up, despite how little they spoke. Chase never minded, he was good at talking enough for the both of them and Birch was a great listener.

They don't hug, but Birch reaches their hand out and Chase clasps their arms together in a tight grip.

"I'll watch out for her," Birch mumbled, already knowing what Chase was going to ask of them. They were always a soft-spoken person. Chase compared their voice to a gentle breeze once and Birch just shrugged, outwardly indifferent but Chase could tell they appreciated the compliment. 

"You mean that?"

Birch nodded, serious. "Her. The ankle biter. And your old man. I'll make sure they're taken care of if your dad slips up somewhere."

Chase let out a steady breath. Birch has always had Chase's back ever since Chase pulled their little brother out of the river, the one where they floated the trees to the lumber mill. The peacekeepers did nothing and the boy would have been crushed between massive logs if Chase didn't go after him. Guess this debt will finally be paid off in Birch's eyes if they do this for him. "Thank you," Chase says sincerely. Birch just nods again.

And that was it. Birch left as quietly as they came. No lingering. No tearful goodbyes. Just a promise to set Chase's mind at ease.

It's probably better this way. Birch always got uncomfortable when people cried.

Chase is then whisked away to the train station, several cameras pointed right at him and the other tribute girl as they get ushered onto the car like cattle heading to the slaughterhouse. Chase does have half a mind to smile and wave for the people across the country watching the broadcast, giving a small wave goodbye to his home as they stepped onto the train. He hoped they all didn't notice how puffy his eyes were or how clenched his jaw was.

The games have already begun.

°○°○°○°

Chase enters the dining car and looks out the window one last time at his district. He scanned the crowds who were seeing them off, waving goodbye but knowing in the back of his mind that he wouldn't see Stacy standing among them. No, Birch has probably escorted her back home by now and is trying in vain to comfort her.

The thought of Stacy when Birch inevitably has to leave, in her empty house crying, sets him on edge again. Chase stalks up and down the dining car like a caged animal, not even noticing the incredible speed of the train once it pulled away from his home. The trees stretch on for miles and blur past in a wall of green that Chase can barely register as it takes all of his power not to destroy the table setting. 

Instead of causing total destruction, he sits heavily on one of the plush chairs at the dining table and doubles over himself, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees stars bursting behind his closed lids. Chase couldn't stop his leg from bouncing if he bothered to try. There was so much rage, fear, and grief pent up inside him that he reconsidered throwing an expensive glass through a window when he heard the mechanical door slide open.

Chase snaps his head up to see the same man who stood with them on the stage. He vaguely realizes this must have been the person who kept a hand on his back so he didn't keel over on the spot.

He wears a rich blue vest with a simple swirling design embroidered into it, a crisp white shirt, and pressed black slacks with matching polished shoes. His black curly hair is tamed back with gel, but the thick curls were already beginning to crack and spring back to life in defiance. It seems like his mustache beat his hair to the punch- being styled to curl at the ends towards his nose. But that's about where the similarities to a potential resident in the Capitol stop. No, Jameson Jackson may have gotten a little plump around the edges with his victor's salaries, but he still had the hands of a worker. And shoulders to match if he didn't actively curl in just slightly enough to appear smaller. Appear more meek. The smile on his face was hardened like it was petrified into place, like a piece of fossilized bark. But his deep blue eyes still seemed kind. 

Chase didn't know what to think of him just yet.

Jameson walked with a limp over to Chase. The cane in his grip was fashioned from a tree branch, lovingly stripped of bark and polished to an almost orange shine. A knot at the top of it acts as the handle for Jameson to grip onto as he reaches his free hand out to gently grip Chase's shoulder.

The man tilts his head to the side while looking down at Chase- he can just catch the sight of a scar under the man's collar even though his black bowtie keeps the shirt closed. Jameson raises his brows in silent question. Chase knows that Jameson knows it's a bitter and dumb question to ask, but he still feels compelled to.

Are you okay?

Chase shakes his head, refusing to let tears fall. The next week is all about impressions. Getting people on your side, making friends with the Capitol scum that are rooting for his death, and placing bets on how fast he’ll die.

Realistically he’ll probably last a few days, but he can’t do anything important like gather food that won’t kill him, or patch up wounds so deep you can see your bones. He’ll make it to the top twelve, maybe ten,  then die a slow, hungry, painful death.

He turns back to Jameson and grabs his hand that rested on his shoulder.

“I have a girlfriend- a fiancée. She’s pregnant with our daughter. I need you to take care of her when I die. I won’t ask for anything else from you. Just please, take care of Stacy Wells.” 

It probably wasn’t the best idea to beg right off the bat, but that’s all Chase could think to do.

Jameson blinks rapidly at Chase's pleading, taking a moment to compose himself from the small outburst before gently removing his hand from Chase's death grip. He begins to use his hands to make movements and strange signs at the younger man but slowly stops when he sees Chase's lost look. Jameson hesitates again, hands hovering in front of him as if he was debating something, before turning and plucking a butter knife from the table behind him. He begins to tap on his cane with the blunt end of the knife and Chase immediately perks up in recognition. 

The quick taps are a bastardized Morse code that the people of District 7 developed as a way of communication to mimic the sound of woodpeckers- and slip conversations past the peacekeepers. Back in the days of the rebellion it was used quite frequently, but now it's mostly reserved for the folks who actually go up the high canopies to strip the branches. Usually to signal for bears or other dangers they spot nearby, but more often than not it is used to warn those goofing off of approaching peacekeepers.

It's by no means a perfect system, it's mostly just a collection of quick and simple phrases. But Jameson taps out a sentence that Chase roughly manages to translate to, "I understand. But first, let's talk." 

Chase nods.

Jameson pulls a chair out and spins it around so he can sit facing the 18-year-old. Once he leans his cane against the side of his chair, he pulls out some strange copper domes that look like a handful of sewing thimbles. He carefully places them on each finger before pressing them all into his scarred palms, causing them all to activate with tiny blue lights all at once.

"Test. Test." 

Chase jumps as a calm robotic male voice speaks from Jameson's breast pocket as he moves his hands to sign.

As Jameson signs, the movements of his hands seem to translate into a digital dialogue. Must be some kind of high-end Capitol tech, Chase wonders how much they cost Jameson. "These things are a huge pain to wear all day, but I will say, it is a nifty bit of equipment." 

“Did-did the Capitol give you those?” Chase curses himself at the question. Of course, he got those from the Capitol, most injured loggers would be lucky to have a decent cane or a wooden appendage if the worse came. Of course, the Capitol gave him everything he needed to communicate, he’s a victor. 

Jameson gave the young man a bemused smile, "Yes they are from the Capitol, but it was my friend from District 3 who designed them himself."

“They look nice at the very least.”  Chase tries to compliment him. If he was going to win Jameson over, he could start by not antagonizing him. But what does he even say? What could he even say? Everything depends on the next few sentences.

“I want to win. But I don’t think I have a good chance. I want to go back home to my family.” 

Jameson's smile slowly drops at Chase's self-doubt and he kicks himself for it, "What makes you so sure you don't have what it takes?"

“I-I’m not a career. And I can’t forage or hunt properly, let alone treat wounds or find water. I’m good with an axe and strong but that’s about it.” Chase runs his hands across the silky tablecloth. It’s a texture unfamiliar to him but it’s nice anyway. He thought it felt as if water was woven into a flexible solid and he could dip his hand through its cool surface.

"Not every winner is a career. Our district has had its fair share of victors, after all." Jameson gives Chase a grin but he immediately drops it when it's returned with a deadpan stare. "There will be a few days of survival and basic weapons training before the games. You have the opportunity to absorb as much knowledge as you can then. But that's not for a few more days. When Ivy comes in we will discuss the next immediate steps. Like what happens when we get to the Capitol."

"What are the next immediate steps? Creating my image or something?" Chase tried hard not to roll his eyes, this was important. Likable and impressionable tributes win, he can't be just another scared kid in makeup, he has to stand out. If they managed to get Stacy's wails on camera maybe that would boost his image? It definitely would be something to talk about. A very pregnant woman crying out for her love to come home to her and their unborn child? Pulls on the heartstrings of even the gruffest lumberjack.

"First step," Jameson reaches over and plucks a small golden puffed pastry drizzled in chocolate from a silver platter, popping it into his mouth, "Enjoy the food. While you can stomach it." Jameson quirks his eyebrow when Chase sends him a scowl, "We have some time. Try to use what we have now to calm your nerves and get some meat on your ribs. We will figure everything out soon."

Enjoy the food? He was going to either be killed or kill children in a week and he was supposed to enjoy the food? That’s it? He was supposed to eat and revel in all the luxury that the oh-so-gracious Capitol provided for him? Chase holds his head in his hands and forces himself to take a few deep breaths. There’s no use getting mad at Jameson after all, he was going to be his only lifeline for the next few weeks. 

The door slides open to the dining car before Chase can reply, and a girl with the most brilliant green eyes Chase has ever seen steps through the door.

"Ah, Ivy!" Jameson signed cheerily, the strange voice box nestled in his breast pocket didn't fully portray his cheer, but Jameson made up for that with his smile alone.

Chase and the girl both jump at the electronic voice. Chase was still not completely used to it. He turns back to see the other half of the team, Ivy, accompanied by the District Seven escort. 

Ivy Cinder stiffens a little but returns a kind smile that doesn't reach her eyes to Jameson, “Hi. Nice to meet you.” She mutters, tucking a stray red curl behind her ear with stiff movements. She was wearing a simple gray dress that she didn't look at all comfortable in, with a green flannel over top with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was also still wearing logger's work boots that Chase recognized almost immediately.

Ivy looks over at Chase, unsure when he waves to invite her to sit down with them. She walks around the table and sits heavily across from Chase and Jameson. Her leg starts bouncing like crazy immediately as she fidgets with a necklace charm Chase can't make out from his seat. Her shoulders were stiff but Chase could tell she was trying to not make her nerves obvious.

Jameson's shoulders bounce in a silent chuckle, "I know, this thing takes some getting used to. I tried talking to my good friend Henrik about changing the voice audio but he-” Their mentor looks between the two tributes who were staring at him with blank looks and his smile falters. There is a beat of awkward silence before Jameson's face turns to soft sorrow, "I know it does not mean much, especially coming from me, but I am so sorry this has happened to you both." Jameson glances at the district escort before continuing, "This isn't going to be easy, but me and Miss. Whisper here are going to do everything we can to help you." 

"That is absolutely right!" The Capitol woman who was to be their escort, Teefee Whisper, clapped with glee while taking her seat next to Ivy in a puff of magenta glitter. Chase could see Ivy was trying her best to not make a face about the cloud of shimmering plastic particles that went everywhere. "I'm here to make sure we are all happy and punctual to get where we need to go. Oh! And I'm SO happy that I get to teach you proper etiquette! Ah! It will be just..." Teefee pauses a moment to search for the correct word and her face brightens with a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers, "Exceptional!" 

Jameson smiles very patiently at the Capitol woman, "Indeed." He turns back to Chase and Ivy with his expression more serious again, "As your mentor, it is my job to help you from the sidelines while you are in the games. Do you both have a general idea of how sponsors work?"

Chase and Ivy both nod and Ivy subtly scoots away from Teefee, not wanting any glitter to touch her. Chase has watched people come back from the dead thanks to sponsors. Some water or food or even a simple set of matches made all the difference. 

"I don't think Ivy will have difficulty with sponsors. I've seen her make friends with even the grouchiest of the lumberjacks." Chase says.

Ivy raises an eyebrow in surprise at his praise, "I highly doubt the other districts will see that as a strength-” Ivy says, idly rubbing her thumb against her token as she grins a little, "But the loveable sunshine girl and the determined father-to-be sound good together, I think.”

Even if Chase thought Ivy wasn't going to last long, she was certainly going to be a Capitol favorite. If Chase showed them all that they were a team, a duo, maybe some of Ivy's sponsors could roll over to him. And talking about Stacy and Willow would definitely help too. Everyone loves a baby after all.

Jameson nods while listening to the both of them, "Yes, we can definitely work with that. It helps that we won't have to reach too far to carve out a personality for the cameras.” He leans back in his seat a bit, “Just remember that this is all a big show. We will coach you later for the interview, but as soon as we pull into the station in the Capitol, consider yourselves on camera until the games are over. Start building up what you want the sponsors to see as soon as the train stops. Typically sponsors want to spend their money on someone who they think has a chance of winning, or that they want to see win because they take a shine to their personality," Jameson leans forward again for more emphasis that the digital voice can't portray, "Show them that your life is worth investing in." 

When Ivy doesn't respond either, Chase assumes that she was also chewing on the weight of Jameson's words. Pretending to be something other than your true self so people can sit back and daintily throw their money at the ones who they think are the most deadly, funny, or attractive? That if they don't perform for their amusement it could mean the difference of a struggling life or a slow and cruel death. They have to prove to these complete strangers that their life is worth something.

A hard glare fixes itself between Chase's eyebrows as a literal banquet is set in front of everyone. He had half a mind to not eat a single bite, but the wafting smells of fresh sourdough bread, beef and vegetable stew, and an array of cheeses and pastries- it could make any man break, and Chase's mouth is a dam ready to burst. His stomach betrayed him further as it growled. He couldn't be too embarrassed for himself because Ivy's stomach echoed his.

The two of them share a look before they simultaneously give a snicker, serving themselves towering plates of bread and cheese with bowls of thick soup the size of their heads.

The tributes haven't eaten this well in... ever. And everything is delicious. Chase has to force himself to slow down or else he fears being sick. But once the main course was finished he dragged over the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Chase almost melted as the mix of bittersweetness hit his tongue. It was incredible. But it was Capitol food, he reminded himself after the third strawberry, pitching the leafy greens at one of the flower vases in the middle of the table.

“Ivy’s also really smart.” Chase says in between bites of another berry, “I’m good with an axe but she knows how to forage and stuff.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red juice staining his skin, "I think if we trade knowledge we have a chance to make it far.”

But Chase knows making it far counts for nothing. Doesn’t matter if you die first or last, you’ll be in the Capitol’s coffin either way. A vague memory in the short-term minds of frivolous people lost to time. You needed to win. You needed to come first in order to be seen.

Ivy pauses stuffing her face with warm bread and various cheeses, her freckled cheeks turning a bit red. "Hey give yourself some credit, Brody! Any skill is a good skill in some way and I know you have some." Ivy says in between bites, taking her first sip from a mug filled with something sweet and inspiring delight in her eyes, "What do you know about hunting?"

“I uh, I don’t know too much about hunting. But like I said I’m good with an axe. I can throw them pretty far and with decent accuracy.”

He looks to Jameson for… something, and just finds him listening to them talk while sipping a very ornate-looking cup of tea.

Chase looks over the banquet laid out for him and grabs another sandwich and shoves it in his mouth bitterly.

“Can you climb?” Teefee pipes up cheerily, wanting to be a part of the conversation but obviously not knowing that much about which district she's talking to. Obviously, all kids from District 7 knew how to scale up trees as fast as squirrels, with little need for equipment like them as well. Guess the woman didn't do her homework before coming.

“Uh yeah, I guess. I’m pretty decent with a throw weight as well. I used to help cut some of the branches up high when I was a kid. And I can tie some pretty decent knots.”

Jameson nods approvingly, and turns back to Ivy, giving a gesture as a general prompt, What about you?

Ivy perks up mid-chewing on some meat and wipes her mouth clean. "I'm fast, a good hider, and good at throwing an axe, same as Chase. My dad taught me how to hunt with a crossbow and my older sister taught me what herbs to use and avoid. I'm good at climbing too... if I hype myself up."

How in the world did she manage to get her hands on a crossbow?! Chase looks down in his lap as he tries to assess the situation. Fuck. Ivy might have a shot after all. Her survival skills are much better than his, and when it comes down to it, he’ll be relying on her, not the other way around. Especially when it comes to finding food that is actually edible. And when the time comes he knows that she’ll have to be the one to pull the trigger. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! His one and only plan was crumbling down around him. He’ll be dead in the first three days! He knows it.

Chase wipes a tear from his eye, refusing to show weakness in front of anyone here. He’s gonna die. All because some stupid rebels tried to storm a mountain 37 years ago. He wasn't even born yet when that happened so why does it have to be him paying for what they did?

If Jameson sees Chase crying he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he nods to Ivy, finishes his tea, and carefully puts his thimbles back on after having removed them to eat.

"As I said before, there will be a chance to train for three days before the games. You two can either pool your knowledge and work together, or decide now to train alone. If you do decide to be a team, I suggest that you don't show the other tributes your greatest strengths in the training center.” He explains, “Show them that you are capable of holding your own- hell if you think you're charming enough, make some friends and team up with others." Jameson doesn't look too thrilled at his own idea of teaming up with others, so he adds, "Just don't get too attached. And be careful.

“Excuse me,” Chase says suddenly as he gets up. 

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He reaches for the door, finding that it opens automatically before he can even find a handle. Chase doesn’t listen to it shut behind him or anybody possibly calling out to him. He’s already taken off looking for a place to cry.